


I'm trying to tell you I love you

by grantairrible



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Nonbinary Grantaire, Oblivious Grantaire, Other, Trans Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 20:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairrible/pseuds/grantairrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is staring at Grantaire.<br/>The weirdest part about that is that it isn’t unusual, not any more.</p><p>(The one in which Enjolras is trying to make his feelings for Grantaire clear, and Grantaire just wants to know why Enjolras is acting so strangely.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm trying to tell you I love you

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Next to Normal's 'Perfect for you'.  
> I finally finished and submitted a big essay yesterday which meant I finally had the brainpower to finish off this fluffy little thing. I hope you enjoy it!!

Enjolras is staring at Grantaire.

The weirdest part about that is that it isn’t unusual, not any more. They’ve all been working tirelessly on an upcoming rally, and two weeks out they’re well on track. Tonight has been exhausting, working out all the little kinks in the process, making difficult, shitty decisions that nobody wants to make, and Combeferre finally called the meeting to an end, frustrated as everyone was getting. A frazzled Courfeyrac immediately pulled him into a kiss, and now they’re being their usual insufferable selves, supremely annoying in how perfect they are as a couple.

Enjolras seems the most tired out of the group, and catches Grantaire’s gaze again as he raises his coffee to his lips, smiling faintly before taking a sip. His mug is a bucket, really, and Grantaire wasn’t aware that the Musain stocked mugs that held that much coffee. They really don’t want to know who Enjolras had to bribe to give him that much caffeine at this time of night.

Around them, the rest of les Amis are chatting at a deafening volume. Grantaire vaguely registers that Bossuet is recounting some story, with them as part of his audience, but they slip away to Enjolras’ side.

“R,” Enjolras says, placing down his coffee. Grantaire can’t remember when Enjolras started calling them _R,_ can’t remember when their tenuous relationship with Enjolras mellowed out enough for nicknames. The bonding over transphobia helped, probably.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire returns, and settles into the seat next to him when Enjolras’ expression softens into a smile, rather than the frosty glares they were so used to. “I should really confiscate that coffee.”

Enjolras only grips the mug more firmly. “One condition.”

“Anything for you.”

“Oh, good.” Enjolras relaxes his grip, and pushes the mug toward Grantaire. “Make it up to me with another coffee. Tomorrow, perhaps. I have a break at eleven, come and meet me outside the law building if you’re free.”

Grantaire blinks at him. “I can do that.”

 

* * *

 

So Grantaire finds themself outside the law building, five minutes early for once, a takeaway coffee in each hand - in keep cups, of course, since they don't want to be verbally flayed by Enjolras today. Also because Jehan has an entire cupboard of them in the kitchen, and Grantaire is a little afraid to ask where all of them are from, since they've never actually seen Jehan use them. When asked, they would only flutter their eyelashes and perhaps quote some poetry as a distraction. Grantaire wishes they were as dedicated to constructing a mysterious aura as Jehan is. Grantaire just comes off a nervous, over-eager, and yet simultaneously cynical and disillusioned fucktruck. They can’t count the number of times they’ve half-assed a piece of art for uni and sold it off as the Depressed Aesthetic™. But Grantaire is cut off from a potentially destructive spiral of self-loathing by the appearance of Enjolras, Actual Angel and revolutionary extraordinaire. He's smiling for once, instead of his usual righteous anger or less righteous but still angry resting face to dissuade catcallers. It’s surprisingly effective, but this smile is far more beautiful. Which is the point, Grantaire supposes.

“R!” Enjolras calls, giving the sun a run for its money in terms of pure radiance, and Grantaire is _fucked._

“Uh, hey.” Grantaire tries to match the wattage of Enjolras’ smile. “I brought your coffee.”

“Oh.” Enjolras dims. “I thought we could go out and get it. Together.”

Grantaire is an idiot. They messed up time they could have spent alone with Enjolras. “Shit, I thought you just wanted a replacement coffee.”

“I mean- I’m not trying to be ungrateful. Thank you, really.” And Enjolras rises up on his toes to kiss Grantaire’s cheek as he takes his coffee. What. “I just thought we could, I don’t know, talk about stuff.”

Grantaire has no fucking clue what’s going on right now. “Oh, is it about the poster designs? I’ve got my ones in my bag, and Feuilly-”

“That’s not what I-” Enjolras breaks off, and all of a sudden his smile is all forced. Grantaire wants to know what they said to fuck this up. And when it was all going so well. Well, well- _ish._ “You know what, yeah, I’ll have a look at the poster designs.”

 

* * *

 

“These are really good, you know.” Enjolras reaches across the table to squeeze Grantaire’s hand, and their heart jolts. Enjolras can sure as fuck be frightening sometimes, but he loves his friends so much. Grantaire is just glad to be included in that group. It’s weird, that they were such an asshole to him because they wanted his attention, but once they stopped trying, Enjolras was actually interested in being their friend.

“Thanks.” Grantaire says, with a smile that makes Enjolras lower his gaze. Grantaire knows their teeth are crooked, and they don’t have the nicest smile, but they didn’t think it was quite that bad. Hurt, they pull away and start digging in their bag for the flyers they’d collaborated on with Feuilly. “I have these as well, Feuilly worked on them too so you’re bound to love them.”

“Well, I do love Feuilly,” Enjolras says, with an indulgent smile. “But that’s not to say I don’t-”

Grantaire snorts, interrupting him. “You’re not going to lie and say you love me, now, are you?”

“I thought-”

Giving up on finding the flyers, Grantaire stands. “You thought what? Thought that it would spare my feelings?”

“Grantaire, that’s not what I-” Grantaire can’t bear to glance at Enjolras, knowing they will only see that beseeching expression, that concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows. They’ll want to make it better, make Enjolras happy, but they aren’t going to wreck themself over Enjolras again. So they leave.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire is moping. This is nothing new.

Bossuet, catching them staring despondently at a blank page in their sketchbook, rolls his eyes and flops down next to them on on the couch. “What happened this time?”

“Enjolras is being weirdly nice to me.”

“And that’s a problem?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Having him close, but knowing that I can’t have what I want with him, and that I’m not what he wants isn’t very fun. Especially when he lies to make me feel better.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Grantaire says, fiddling with the strap that holds their sketchbook closed. “I didn’t let him say it.”

“ _Grantaire.”_

“You weren’t there, he was going to say he- well, it doesn’t matter. I knew what he was going to say, and it can’t be true. Not in the way I wish it was, at least. I shouldn’t wish for it, it’s never going to happen, after all.”

“I still think you should talk to him.” Bossuet says, and kisses them on the cheek. “But you have to do what’s right for you, and I’m here for you, whatever the right thing turns out to be.”

“Thanks.” Grantaire throws their arms around Bossuet, and when Musichetta and Joly find them like that the best part of an hour later, they join the cuddle pile as well.

Grantaire doesn’t need Enjolras to feel whole, and the love of their friends is just as important as romantic love, but it sure as fuck would be nice.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire would really like to know why Enjolras was standing in their kitchen at seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. Grantaire doesn’t even really know what they’re doing in their kitchen right now, and it’s _their kitchen_. Every rational being should still be asleep at such an hour. Although Grantaire isn’t entirely certain that they aren’t asleep, because Enjolras’ hair is catching the morning light and it’s all very ethereal.

“Um.” Grantaire is suddenly painfully aware that they’re only wearing boxers, and most of their body is on display. Enjolras also seems keenly aware of this fact, eyes betraying him by flickering down and then up again every few seconds. Grantaire’s not even going to entertain the outlandish thought that it could be out of attraction rather than discomfort. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologise.”

“It’s fine, Enjolras, I’m used to it.”

“No,” Enjolras says, and he seems to be focusing on Grantaire’s chin. Why is Enjolras being so weird? And how the fuck did he get into their apartment? They bet it was Joly, he’s always wanted to be a spy, and it would be so like him to sneak a key to Enjolras. Traitor. “I’m not apologising for what you think I said. I’m apologising for not making my intentions clearer.”

“Intentions?” Grantaire is so confused. “What intentions?”

Enjolras sighs, his eyes now trained on the ceiling. “I was being really obvious, R.”

“I honestly have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve realised that.” Enjolras’ voice is dry, but he smiles softly. Grantaire might be having a mild heart attack, because Enjolras is smiling _at them_. “Which is why I’m here.”

“Enjolras, I really don’t-”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras cuts them off. “Look, I’m just going to say it, because I don’t think you’re going to get it otherwise. I’m in love with you, and I would very much like to date you, if you’d be interested.”

Grantaire blinks, their brain stubbornly refusing to process those words. “I’m sorry, what?”

“ _Grantaire._ ” Enjolras sounds frustrated now, and he strides away from the bench he’d been leaning against, crossing the room in a few steps to stand in front of them. “Can I kiss you?”

Grantaire nods mutely. They understand what Enjolras is saying on a technical level, but surely they’re misunderstanding the situation. Surely this isn’t…

They’re cut off from further doubts when Enjolras’ lips crash messily into theirs. After a long moment, they finally understand what the fuck is going on and surge into action, rescuing that horrible kiss from whatever uncomfortable direction it was going in, Enjolras soft and pliant against them.

“Do you understand what I was saying now?” Enjolras asks once he pulls away.

“You’re in love with me.” Grantaire answers. They still can’t quite make sense of the why, but the what is apparent. “I’m in love you too, you know.”

“I know.” Enjolras laughs. “That’s why it was so _frustrating_ when you didn’t understand any of the things I thought were spectacularly obvious.”

“It had never even crossed my mind that you would actually love me back. It was one of those fantasies that are nice to think of, but they’re never going to happen, like going to space or winning the lottery.”

Enjolras kisses them again. “People are astronauts. People win the lottery. Sure, most people don’t, but it’s not entirely impossible.”

“And neither is you loving me, apparently,” Grantaire says. “I think you’re going to have to kiss me one more time for this to sink in.”

And so Enjolras does.


End file.
